Slave For You
by LowlifeTheory
Summary: The school raise money for charity and auction the Lacrosse team off as slaves for the weekend. Jackson ends up in the raffle...Stiles ends up winning him...
1. When Coach Bought Jackson

I left an anon review and promised if he guessed who I was I would write something that was in my head, as long as the characters decided to co-operate. They agreed! I also wanted to write something smutty and funny…So um, yeah on with the crazy.

I don't own Teen Wolf. Le Sigh.

XXX

Beacon Hill's High School was packed out the day of the fund raiser. The Senior Year students had decided to raise money to pay for well's in water deprived areas of third world countries, and there were a number of events organised to facilitate this.

On the Lacrosse field McCall and Greenberg had been put to work supervising the shot competition, under the watchful eye of the coach of course. Allison was hosting a bake sale and Lydia was reigning over her post at the nail art bar to the auction hall.

'Slave for the Weekend' was going spectacularly. Right now Danny was up to $375. Jackson thought he looked a bit smug for a gay guy who was the attention of twenty milfs. 'You've got to be joking me.' Jackson muttered as it went to $425.

'I'm a catch.' Danny grinned. 'See the blond woman.'

'They're all blond.' Jackson snapped. Danny rolled his eyes.

'The bidding blond. I started dating her son last month. They're minted. She breeds horses and Harry gets whatever he wants, so he tells her he wants me as a slave for the weekend.' Danny said with a sly grin.

Jackson snorted a laugh as Danny was sold for a hefty $725. Jackson was up next, smirking at the ladies. The bidding started slow and almost fizzled out around the $200 mark. Jackson was pissed, how had Danny made over 500 bucks on him. He was Jackson Whittemore, he was gorgeous, and he was the best catch in school! Suddenly a voice in the crowd rang out. 'Aw come on people, Whittemore's my star player he's worth at least a thousand!'

'Sold to coach Finstock!' The sound of the hammer hitting the makeshift podium was so final that Jackson's heart lurched.

'What, no I didn't mean that I…' Finstock flailed worse than Stilinski stuck in a quagmire.

'Do you not want to donate to charity coach?' Everyone in the crowd turned to look at Finstock, and he flushed. His eyes boggled and for one frightening second Jackson pictured them landing at his feet.

'Well no, of course not, I'll uh…I'll write a cheque. Whittemore, with me!' Finstock snapped waving an angry arm at Jackson. Jackson huffed a breath and rolled his eyes. He hopped down from the stage and followed the coach.

'You're in here.' Finstock said nodding at a roped off area. There were various items donated by almost all the students ranging from small teddy bears and wall clocks to a wide screen television and a weekend at a holiday home in Florida.

'This is the raffle.' Jackson pointed out.

'Consider yourself donated.' Coach said turning his back and walking away. Jackson hated to admit that he was breathing a sigh of relief. What did he do spending a weekend as the coaches slave? It didn't bear thinking about.

Jackson huffed and slumped into a beanbag beside a coffee table with a waffle iron on it. The same waffle iron Stilinski was eying up. 'Go away.' Jackson snapped waving his hands at him.

'You go away.' Stiles said, dragging his eyes from his breakfast master to glare at Jackson. 'This baby is mine.' Jackson looked at the box.

'These things will make you fat?' Jackson said. His mom had made the most delicious waffles for breakfast, complete with crispy bacon and freshly squeezed orange juice. The best thing about being a werewolf was having a celebratory chef for a mom. His metabolism kicked the hell out of any calories that dared try to stick to his body, meaning Jackson could eat what he wanted.

'Waffle irons will make me fat?' Stiles asked raising his eyebrows.

'No…waffles will.' Jackson said slowly, as if talking to a child. Stiles stuck his tongue out. Jackson resisted the urge to return the sentiment. The last time he had stuck his tongue out at Stiles it had ended up coated in green paint and Jackson had wailed for hours thinking he would die, despite the teachers reassurances that they used "Stiles safe paint", but that had done nothing to appease Jackson. 'Why don't you go wash cars or something? Isn't that what you were planning on doing anyway?'

'Yeah, but that baby…it's mine.' Stiles said licking his lips. 'Tomorrow morning baby, just you and me…' He whispered.

Jackson watched him go for a moment before rolling his eyes and going back to playing with his phone. He still remembered the day Stiles painted his tongue, vividly. To appease Jackson a frantic eyed Stiles had slapped paint onto his own tongue and assured Jackson he wouldn't die alone. He wouldn't mind painting Stilinski's tongue again. He pictured Stiles on his knees, his tongue out for Jackson's brush, only Jackson's cock was in his fist and Stiles…

Jackson shook his head, where the hell had that image come from. He scrunched his eyes up and pictured Katy Perry instead. He decided the sudden tightness in his pants was due to the celebratory and not the irritating boy with…No not going there!

'You told me the auction was starting at two.' A voice growled. Jackson smirked. Derek had intended to "buy the pack" for a weekend of slavery. Jackson could just imagine what he had in store, torturous training, running up hills backwards and climbing trees blindfolded, sick things that seemed to amuse their Alpha. For once the pack agreed on something without Derek's threats to "guide" them. They lied about the auction time.

'Who got Scott?' Jackson asked yawning.

'Allison and Lydia are sharing him.' Derek said. Jackson's eyes flew open. Derek was smirking. 'Imagine if you become number 666-670…' Smirking he looked around the prizes.

'Why does it not surprise me that you bought those ticket numbers?' Stiles grinned coming to stand beside Derek. Derek scowled at him.

'They were that order in the book.' Derek snapped.

'Yeah whatever.' Stiles said. Derek growled. 'I get it, throat, teeth; I'm just here to gaze at my baby…' Stiles licked his lips, his tongue running over his bottom one again and again. Jackson closed his eyes and swallowed, shoving his earlier fantasy away. He opened his eyes to find a smirking Derek.

'Have fun.' He said walking away with his hands in his pockets.

They called the tickets an hour later. Jackson was apparently number 313. He watched as people claimed their prizes and wondered idly who he belonged to for the weekend, he didn't care, a quick smile and whoever got him was melted, or even better, a nice payoff and he'd be free. He noticed Stiles coming towards them rubbing his hands together happily. 'Now where's my baby?' He asked with a smile.

'What's your ticket number?' One of the football douches asked him, pretending to read from a clipboard. .

'311 to 315.' Stiles said with a grin.

'Congratulations you got Whittemore.' Jackson felt all the blood drain from his body as Stiles's jaw dropped. For a moment he looked utterly shocked, but that was soon replaced with a look of astonished glee.

'Oh no, no way. There is no way I'm being Stilinski's slave. No, no way!' Jackson said, struggling for a second to get out of the beanbag he had nested himself into.

'You're whatever Stilinski wants you to be. It's charity. Get out of here I'm sick of lacrosse losers.' The douche said. Jackson made a mental note to have Danny hack into the school computers and ruin his academic career. If he had one, and Jackson was doubtful he did.

'Heel!' Stiles snapped with a grin. 'Maybe I should get you a collar; you are my slave for the weekend. I read the slave rules, I know there's things you aren't allowed to do but cleaning is suggested and man there's some funky shit under my bed that I'm not that keen on exploring, and I have a ton of washing to do, not to mention a pile of DVD's that need alphabetised and of course there's the…'

Jackson tuned Stiles out as he followed him to the piece of shit jeep that Stiles rambled around town in. He knew there was no way he could pay Stiles off, Stiles would never pass up this opportunity, it was a once in a lifetime gift. He could have protested more, he realised as Stiles started talking about the appropriate slave attire. Stiles started the jeep and pulled out of the parking lot. Jackson looked longingly at his baby sitting parked under the shade of a large oak. He felt like waving goodbye.

'Jackson man!' Stiles slapped his leg. 'I'm going to have a ball!'

Jackson swallowed, and wondered what fate had in store for him for the weekend.


	2. Camp Bed

Stiles stopped off at the Sheriff's office on the way home. He was halfway out of the jeep before looking over at Jackson. 'Stay.' He said, pointing a finger. Jackson curled his lips away from his teeth and snarled but Stiles just laughed and walked away.

This was going to be a long weekend. The whole way from school Stiles had blathered on about his plans, how he always wanted a slave, and how next weekend he would be lost without Jackson. Jackson couldn't wait until next weekend. He was going to put Stiles through hell. He watched as Stiles tripped on the last step, did a spectacular dance in order to save himself and grabbed the door to keep on his feet.

'Idiot.' Jackson said.

'You're not supposed to insult me. For that I'm making you face the corner of my room tonight while I watch filthy porn. Loudly.' Stiles said scrambling back into the driver's seat and pulling away from the parking space. 'My dad is delighted to have a slave too, but he's set me ground rules.'

Jackson breathed a sigh of relief; surely the Sheriff's rules would control Stiles. Surely an authority figure would put the fear of god into the idiot beside him. Surely Jackson was safe from Stiles's wills, wasn't he?

'But my mom always said that rules were made to be broken.' Stiles shot Jackson a wink. And his heart fell. Again.

'Of course she did.' Jackson muttered to himself as they pulled into the Stilinski driveway. There were two lawn chairs on the porch, a cluttered table between them, and an ill looking pot plant growing by the door.

'Come along darling.' Stiles said as he got out of the jeep and grabbed his stuff. Jackson followed slowly, watching as Stiles put his key into the door and turned. 'I was thinking about getting you a uniform. Remember when we were in Kindergarten and we did that play were you had to be an angel in a play and you wore that adorable pillowcase. With bare feet.' Stiles said sucking on his bottom lip, making his way to what Jackson assumed was the kitchen through the hallway cluttered with bags, coats and shoes. He curled his nose up, the Stilinski house was small. The ground floor would fit into his own kitchen. 'Do you, do you remember it?'

'Yes.' Jackson said. He rolled his eyes.

'I won't make you wear a pillowcase. I don't think it would fit.' Stiles said. 'You were a pretty angel.'

Jackson remembered the play all too well. Stiles had tumbled up to him and wished him luck when he was about to go on stage. He had even pressed his lips to Jackson's in some sort of good luck wish. Jackson remembered the feel of his soft lips, wondered how Stiles's lips had changed now.

'Look can we just get on with it. I want to get this weekend over as quick as possible.' Jackson said.

'Oh. Ok. Um, can you make me a sandwich?' Stiles said. Now that he had Jackson in the house, Jackson had the feeling Stiles didn't know what to do with him. For a second Stiles seemed to flounder. 'Ham, cheese, pickles, carrot. And potato chips. Bring potato chips. We'll watch a movie.' Stiles decided.

Jackson stared at the other boy for a second before setting to work hunting through the fridge. Stiles hovered, his fingers itching to help before he turned and disappeared into the living room. Jackson got on with the sandwich, putting it onto a plate and finding Stiles's potato chips he wanted. Stiles was on the couch, notepad in hand, chewing on the end of a pen. There were half a dozen things on Stiles's list. Jackson didn't bother looking, instead he settled in to watch Ice Age. Stiles tucked into his food, offering Jackson share.

'Come on, you're my slave. I say you have to eat.' Stiles said when Jackson had refused half the sandwich. Relenting Jackson ate his food quietly while Stiles fidgeted. 'After this we can do laundry and I need the camp bed dusted off for you.' Stiles yawned and stretched. Jackson watched his t-shirt ride up, noticed the thin trail of hair disappearing into his jeans. He licked his lips and shook his head, pushing those thoughts away.

'Camp bed?' Jackson asked, his nose curling in disgust.

'Yes camp bed. I need you close by, I may get thirsty at three am and it's not good practice to let your master suffer from water deprivation.' Stiles said. Jackson rolled his eyes and shook his head. Stilinski would be the death of him.

XXX

The camp bed was a mess. Stiles was standing in the middle of his room trying, and failing, to blow the dust off it. 'I don't understand.' He frowned, perplexed.

'I do. You're a moron.' Jackson snapped. He heaved a sigh out of his lungs and nudged the bed. 'I'm not sleeping on that.'

'Then where will you sleep?' Stiles asked, looking around the room as if a fluffy could would suddenly appear for Jackson to curl up on.

'Your problem.' Jackson shrugged. Maybe Stiles would give the whole thing up and send Jackson home.

'I know.' Stiles grinned. Jackson stared at him. 'We'll share. You're skinny like me. It'll be no problem.' Stiles said already hunting for extra pillows in the linen closet.

'I'm not sleeping with you Stilinski.' Jackson hissed. Stiles ignored him, gathering what he deemed necessary for sharing his bed. 'And I'm not skinny.'

'Why not. My personal hygiene is werewolf approved.' Stiles said poking his tongue obscenely into the side of his deliciously fuckable mouth.

Where the hell did that thought come from. Jackson shuddered. 'Are you cold?' Stiles asked. Jackson shook his head, keeping his eyes closed and concentrating on his inner wolf, asking him to relax. Willing him to relax, and stop rolling over every time Stilinski paid attention to them.

'No I am not cold.' Jackson said calmly opening his eyes and pinning Stiles to the wall with just a look. 'And I am not sharing a bed with you.'

'Fine. You make your bed presentable.' Stiles told him waving his arm at the sorry looking camp bed on the floor. 'If it's not up to my high Stilinski standards then there will be retribution in it for you.'

Jackson flipped him the bird. There was a scoff behind him before Stiles opened his closet. Jackson watched as a jumble of clothes, books and other debris tumbled out. 'For your rudeness you're organising my closet. And if you refuse I will purchase you that collar and organise a uniform. Scott's Mom's a nurse remember, I wouldn't be beneath organising a pretty white dress for you…'

Jackson shot Stiles a filthy look before kicking the camp bed out of his way to get to the mess Stilinski called a closet. Stiles flopped down onto his bed, book in hand. 'Are you not even going to help me?' Jackson snapped.

'You slave. Me master.' Stiles said using his thumb to indicate first Jackson then himself. Jackson glared as he twisted back to the mess. He was pissed but for some reason the wolf inside him was quite content to plunder through Stiles's closet. Jackson frowned, tried to rile him up, but all he wanted to do was curl up and bask in the scent. Snarling in a completely human way because his wolf abandoned him to this, Jackson picked up a blue checked shirt and tossed it over his shoulder.

'That needs washed.' He snapped. The scent of Stiles was curling around his head. Whatever deodorant or cologne the moron wore was clearly making Jackson lightheaded and a bit woozy. He shook his head, trying, and failing, to shake it off.

'You know where the laundry room is.' Stiles said. Jackson huffed out a breath and grabbed a book on werewolves. There was a bookmark. Curiously Jackson flicked to the part, to find a whole chapter noting how werewolves mate for life. Setting the book aside for later, Jackson got tucked back into the mountain of Stilinski crap.


End file.
